What the Coal-heaver Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's an open furnace door
    Where all can see the blast,
    We shovel in our blackest griefs,
    Upon that grate are cast
    Our aching burdens, loves and fears
    And underneath them wait
    Paper and tar and pitch and pine
    Called strife and blood and hate.

    Out of it all there comes a flame,
    A splendid widening light.
    Sorrow is turned to mystery
    And Death into delight.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

Vachel Lindsay

The Moon's the North Wind's Cooky

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Song of the Garden-Toad

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

A Net to Snare the Moonlight

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

What the Scare-crow Said

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

What the Miner in the Desert Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a brass-hooped water-keg,
    A wondrous water-feast.
    If I could climb the ridge and drink
    And give drink to my beast;
    If I could drain that keg, the flies
    Would not be biting so,
    My burning feet be spry again,
    My mule no longer slow.
    And I could rise and dig for ore,
    And reach my fatherland,
    And not be food for ants and hawks
    And perish in the sand.

Vachel Lindsay

Drying their Wings

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)
        (What the Carpenter Said)


    The moon's a cottage with a door.
    Some folks can see it plain.
    Look, you may catch a glint of light,
    A sparkle through the pane,
    Showing the place is brighter still
    Within, though bright without.
    There, at a cosy open fire
    Strange babes are grouped about.
    The children of the wind and tide -
    The urchins of the sky,
    Drying their wings from storms and things
    So they again can fly.

Vachel Lindsay

What the Moon Saw

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Two statesmen met by moonlight.
    Their ease was partly feigned.
    They glanced about the prairie.
    Their faces were constrained.
    In various ways aforetime
    They had misled the state,
    Yet did it so politely
    Their henchmen thought them great.
    They sat beneath a hedge and spake
    No word, but had a smoke.
    A satchel passed from hand to hand.
    Next day, the deadlock broke.

Vachel Lindsay

What the Gray-winged Fairy Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a gong, hung in the wild,
    Whose song the fays hold dear.
    Of course you do not hear it, child.
    It takes a FAIRY ear.

    The full moon is a splendid gong
    That beats as night grows still.
    It sounds above the evening song
    Of dove or whippoorwill.

Vachel Lindsay

What Semiramis Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a steaming chalice
        Of honey and venom-wine.
    A little of it sipped by night
        Makes the long hours divine.
    But oh, my reckless lovers,
        They drain the cup and wail,
    Die at my feet with shaking limbs
        And tender lips all pale.
    Above them in the sky it bends
        Empty and gray and dread.
    To-morrow night 'tis full again,
        Golden, and foaming red.

Vachel Lindsay

What the Rattlesnake Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a little prairie-dog.
    He shivers through the night.
    He sits upon his hill and cries
    For fear that I will bite.

    The sun's a broncho.    He's afraid
    Like every other thing,
    And trembles, morning, noon and night,
    Lest I should spring, and sting.

Vachel Lindsay